Last Dance
by iBetYouKnowWho
Summary: Sometimes, someone will walk into your life and change everything. L/M. Ridiculously AU.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

**Aaris III**

**4 ABY**

**Two days after the Battle of Endor**

_Crunch._

Luke Skywalker grimaced as the sounds of the now-trampled fern bounced off the trees around him. Pausing to adjust his drooping backpack, he pulled out a small water canteen and took a long swig, craning his neck upwards toward the rainforest canopy. Two beads of sweat raced down his darkened brow. He screwed the cap back on his canteen and reattached it to his belt, shortly before activating the comlink on his wrist.

"Han, do you copy?"

_"When have I not?"_ a masculine voice jested in response. A few beats passed before it sounded again. _"Find anything interesting?"_

"Nope." Luke sighed softly. "Nothing. Artoo sensed life forms before we landed, but so far I'm only seeing trees, trees, and… Well, trees."

Not even the comlink could muffle Han's snort. _"Yeah, well, don't count on it."_

A faint smile touched Luke's lips. "I'm going to go further south and try my luck near Kastays." He lowered his left arm, glanced this way and that, and then continued walking in a new direction, keeping an eye on his holo compass. As he continued to hike, a V-shaped stain gradually appeared where his pack met the backside of his grey tank top. The Jedi winced at the dampness, resisting the urge to guzzle down some more water.

Aaris III was hot; he could give it that. Not much sunshine could escape through the thick canopy above him, but the humidity radiating in the jungle around Luke was enough to make him consider a long vacation in Hoth.

Taking note of a large batch of tall plants ahead, Luke grabbed a machete from the right thigh holster of his cargo pants and flexed it in his grip. Soon, he'd met the ferns and had begun to chop a path through them, breaking every few minutes to wipe the back of his non-dominant hand against his perspiring face. He'd almost made it to the other side when he heard it: the soft, but clearly audible _clink_ as the toe of his combat boot met a metal object.

He looked down to see what looked like a large spearhead halfway buried in the dirt. Luke got on his hands and knees and quickly dug it up, placing it in the palm of his hand as he stood back up. Strands of moist, dark blond hair fell in his eyes and he frowned, turning the object over a few times and examining it. "Han?"

_"Yeah, kid."_

"No signs of life, but I found some sort of metal ingot." Luke fingered a small brown thread that was attached to the article, noting how it looped around to form a necklace. "Triangular in shape, maybe an eighth of a meter long, five centimeters thick." He closed his eyes, reached out in the Force, and his frown deepened. "There's definitely a form of energy coming from it, but I'm unsure of its intentions."

_"So you found a possessed rock," _Han replied skeptically, _"Maybe a remnant of civilization. Either way, your objective was to rescue any natives who would've been imprisoned by the Empire—or, more importantly, Sarne. If you think this… Ingot… displays signs of intelligent life forms, maybe you should stop playing with their toys."_

"This is no toy," Luke murmured, closing his dirt-caked fingers around it. Suddenly he became all too aware of his surroundings, and looked up sharply. His pale blue eyes widened. "Han?" he repeated uneasily. "I've got company."

* * *

**Author's Note [PLEASE READ]: So, I see you've stumbled upon my story, and have managed to reach the end of the prologue. I hope you didn't die of boredom, as I'm a bit rusty in the fanfiction/writing in general department. If you enjoyed this snippet and would like to read more, please leave a review. Even if you didn't enjoy it, or just want to rant about politics or stale, crusty bread they sometimes serve at Subway, or the really gross orange things inside of green olives, feel free to leave a review as well.**

**The next chapter will be a huge Easter egg for me. I hope that you, fellow reader, will stay around long enough to savor it too.**


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

**Somewhere in Nebraska**

**December 31, 1976**

To the average American college student, there was nothing more satisfying than cracking open an egg—especially if one scrawled the name of her ex-boyfriend across its surface with a fountain pen.

"Goodbye, Rodger," Mara Jade muttered, roughly dumping the egg's contents into the mixing bowl in front of her. She rolled the fraying sleeves of her green turtleneck up to her elbows, grabbed the bag of flour, and poured in a handful. A scoop of sugar, half a jug of milk, a pinch of salt, and a few spoonfuls of vanilla followed. Hastily grabbing a large spoon, the young woman began to vigorously stir the contents together and hum the chorus to _Born to Cry_.

The blaring ring of the telephone interrupted her cooking ceremony. Sighing, she wiped one of her hands on the hem of her apron before picking up the peach-colored contraption.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Mom." Mara tucked the phone between her left ear and shoulder, trying to work around the twisting cord as she continued to prepare her pastry. "No, I'm not listening to Dion and The Belmonts again… I'm also not about to drown my sorrows in chocolate chip bread. Again."

She picked up a bag of chocolate chips from beside the flour bag and held it upside-down over the bowl, completely emptying its innards, before proceeding to fold the chocolate into the mix. "Can we _please_ not bring up Rodger right now? I love you, I really do, but we both know that you're insane to think I'll be happily married before I'm thirty."

Mara stopped mid-fold to blink, and her red-gold bangs brushed against her eyelashes. "He was with another _man_, Mom. In that bed. On our _anniversary_. If that doesn't come across as 'Screw off, this is over,' to you, I honestly don't know what to say." She resumed her folding, timing the turns to the tune of the song resounding from the living room.

"Of course I still love him," Mara said, bending down to pull a bread pan out of the lower cupboard. "I just need a break from his existence—and the general male population—for a couple centuries." Securing the phone more tightly around her neck, she picked up the bowl and began filling the bread pan with the batter. She grabbed a nearby knife and caressed the top until the surface was completely smooth.

"Listen, Ma, I've gotta go," Mara continued, throwing the knife in the direction of the sink. "My shift is in fifteen minutes, and you know Jenn hates it when I'm late." She switched the phone to her other ear. "Yeah, okay. Love you too. 'Bye."

Mara untangled the cord from where it had wrapped around her torso and put the phone back in its receiver. She popped open the oven door, slid in the bread pan, set her apron on the counter, and grabbed her purse and keys. Not bothering to turn off her record player, she exited her house and got into her old white Volvo, where she proceeded to put on a black wig and a pin that read _Hello, my name is ARICA_.

* * *

"Arica, honey, I need your help out there," Jennifer Lacina announced that evening as she burst through the swinging kitchen doors. Her red high heels clacked loudly against the tiled floor as she approached a dark-haired worker, menus and notepad in hand.

A girl looked up from where she'd been washing several beer pitchers. Noting the slight wrinkles on her middle-aged companion's face (signaling disgruntlement), and the flushed hue to her cheeks, Mara had a feeling she was in for a surprise. "What is it, Jenn?"

"The fella at Table Five is sure crazy," Jenn replied, setting her menus and notepad down on a nearby counter. She reached up to adjust her dark brown ponytail. "Walked in, bowed to my _face_, and then went on askin' me what system he was on."

"System?" Mara echoed. Her brow puckered slightly. "What would he mean by that?"

"Why the hell're you askin' _me_?" Jenn exclaimed. "I just told him this here was Earth, and he'd better come back to it. Then I seated him all normal-like." She pulled a lipstick cylinder from a pocket in her waitress's apron and began to reapply it. "I ain't in the mood for his funny business tonight, so my shift's all yours."

"How nice. Just going to leave me with the asylum escapee," Mara retorted.

In the midst of untying her apron, Jenn turned her gaze to Mara, and grey eyes met green. "I'll pay ya extra."

Her conversant raised an eyebrow. "How much extra?"

"Hmm… Let's say, fifty more cents an hour each time he does somethin' absurd."

"Deal."

With that, Mara slipped the black apron on over her turtleneck and bellbottoms, grabbed the notepad and a menu, and headed back out the doors to the dining area. As she eyed the room's inhabitants, she found it _was_ rather easy to notice that the man at Table Five stuck out.

He was clad in some sort of grey army uniform, with cargo pants, a wife beater, and matching jacket—not to mention a pair of outrageous-looking combat boots. Clasped to the sides of his pants were various contraptions, some of which appeared to be… weapons? Physically, he seemed sane, with a slightly tanned complexion, wide azure eyes, and blond hair that occasionally fell in his face.

Mara watched as he stared around the room and continued to fiddle with the tablecloth. Aside from the weapons, he didn't really look so bad. She'd probably handled worse, she figured. Holding back a grimace, the young woman strode over to Table Five and flipped to a new page in her notepad. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Jenn's Diner."

"Thank you," the man said, smiling as Mara handed him a menu. She stared at him as he scoured its contents and began to scowl.

"Is there a problem?" she asked gently.

"Yes. I can't read this," he answered. "Do you have one in Basic?"

"No, sorry; they're all just in English," Mara told him. "Seeing as this _is_ the United States of America, and the first language here is English." She tried to stop herself from more obscenity, but continued. "I mean, shoot, some of the old hoagies on an Indian reservation can read it better than you. Where have you been? Under a rock?"

"Stuck on a rock is where I'll be, unless I can get my ship fixed," the man explained. He finally looked up from the menu and met Mara's gaze for the first time. "Do you know a nearby spaceport where I could find a navicomputer mechanic?"

She shrugged. "There's a tire place not too far from here. If you just go east for about two and a half mi—"

"Tires?" he interrupted. "I'm talking about an X-Wing."

"We don't have any of those," Mara went on. "Although we do have boneless. They come with your choice of barbeque sauce, honey mustard, or ranch, and the option of a combo, which includes soda."

The man remained silent for several heartbeats, during which he stared at Mara and she stared back. The two gaped at each other for what seemed like forever. In the back of her mind, Mara felt a weird prodding, but passed it off as a headache, no doubt a result from all the nonsense that had just spilled from the foreigner's lips.

"Those will be fine, thank you," the strange man finally said.

Mara grabbed his menu and spun on her heel to leave, but his voice stopped her once more.

"Is there any chance you could get me some Jawa juice?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't turn around. "I'll see what I can do." Clenching her teeth, she tried not to rip her notepad to shreds as she made her way back into the kitchen. Why did he have to speak in riddles and be so ornery? "Jenn, you'd better follow up on that promise," Mara muttered, quickly scrawling down the order. She pinned it up where the cooks could see it and then headed to the outside bar area, where she proceeded to wonder what in the world a glass of Jawa juice could look like.

* * *

"Any particular reason you're alone on New Year's Eve?" Mara asked the man several minutes later as she and Jenn brought out a basket of boneless chicken wings and a wide selection of dipping sauces. She quickly set down a tall glass of beer that she'd dyed blue.

"What Arica means to say is, will you dance with her?" Jenn drawled, placing the man's food in front of him and grinning.

"Jenn!" her companion growled.

The man looked up at them. "I'd love to partake in this ceremony," he said with a smile. "I've been observing some of the others as they perform the ritual, and I believe I could probably follow along quite well."

"Ceremony? Ritual?" Jenn questioned, dumbfounded.

Mara sighed. "Could you give us a moment, please?" She grabbed her boss by the elbow and led them to the edge of Table Six. Turning her back to the man, her facial expression quickly morphed into one of complete rage. "I am _not_ dancing with him!"

"Why not?" Jenn teased. "We all know you could be usin' a good man in your life, ever since what happened with… Well, Rodger."

"You think this is all a joke, don't you?" Mara hissed, her eyes flashing. She jabbed a finger in Jenn's face. "I already told you that the _only_ _man_ I need in _my_ life is _Betty Crocker!_"

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Jenn all but screamed. "Betty Crocker is a _woman!_"

"Shut up!" Mara breathed in and out rapidly, trying to calm herself. "You know what? Fine. I'll dance with the weird lunatic. But I _won't_ enjoy it."

Jenn clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll go put on some Dion, just for you."

_How thoughtful_, Mara thought with a huff. Trying to keep an even composure, she paced over to Table Five and held out a hand. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

**Author's Note: For an inexplicable reason, the thought of '70s Mara in her 1800 S just makes my little fangirl heart skip a beat.**

**I apologize for the prologue. Looking back, I probably should have been more patient and uploaded this chapter along with it, instead of asking for opinions when I hardly gave you anything to work with.**

**Thank you to those who reviewed, followed, etc.**

**UnknownFigment: Thank you for pointing out the inches/meters inconsistency. I'll fix it right away.**


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